Guilty
by SVU-Obsessed
Summary: One-Shot post-ep for Wednesday, July 23rd. What happened after Lydia kissed Nikolas? Just give it a chance. My first GH fic.


My version of what happened when Nikolas kissed Lydia. . . and what came after that. Mostly his thoughts.  
  
This is my first GH fanfic, so please, go easy. And let me know what you think. Love it? Hate it?  
  
No, I don't own these characters, so please don't sue.  
  
*I don't remember Lydia's exact words, or Nikolas response, so I faked it.*  
  
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Passion.  
  
I wanted passion with her. I wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to be with her. I wanted to love her, to marry her, to protect her, live with her forever.  
  
But she had Zander.  
  
And I had Lydia.  
  
I didn't feel for her. I disliked her. Maybe it would have been easier if I hated her, that way there would have at least been something between us. Sure, she was physically attractive, but there was nothing with us. Nothing.  
  
"You expect me to be loyal, but you're still in love with Emily."  
  
She didn't care about me being in love with Emily. That didn't matter to her. It was because she knew that even if we were married, in a loveless marriage, that if I were to become involved with Emily, I would be faithful to her. I couldn't give Emily up for sex. Plain sex. Boring sex. Emotionless sex. I couldn't care less about the meaningless sex with Lydia. And she was worried that she wouldn't get her meaningless sex.  
  
I was unbelievably jealous of Zander. He got to be with the woman he loves, the woman I love. And I tried to be happy for Emily, for her finally being happy with who she was with. But I couldn't be. So I put on a happy face and went along with it. But I was angry, jealous, dying inside.  
  
And that jealously clouded my judgement. She offered and I didn't care. I took it this time. I kissed her aggressively. The rational part of me said that I was too rough, too hard, too reckless and hoped that she'd protest. But the irrational part of me took over, pushed harder. And Lydia just went along with it, meeting my pressure. I pushed her against the desk, pushing further and further, waiting for her to tell me to stop. It didn't happen.  
  
I felt desire at that point. Not desire for her, but desire for sex- the physical, passionless, uninhibited sex. It was something I had been raised to do, but I had been fighting it. I had been taught to treat women like objects, no respect. I didn't want to be like that. I had tried to go down a different road, to treat women as more than a conquest- to treat them as equals. But now, it was forgotten, and I could feel myself becoming the "man" that I was supposed to become.  
  
We pushed out way over to the chair. I threw her down and pulled off my shirt. She smiled, wanting this as badly as I did.  
  
Slowly our clothes piled on the floor and we moved over to the couch. Our lips, our bodies entwined, moans slowly rising, louder and louder until we pulled away, finished what we had started.  
  
We didn't speak, but she brought her head to my chest and laced her fingers through mine. In her eyes, I could see her vulnerability, something I had only seen once before. She was insecure, and she needed to reassure herself that she had done the right thing, as if she were a teenager who had just lost her virginity. I didn't move. I just allowed her to stay like that until she fell asleep. In an attempt to preserve any self-respect she may have had left, I pulled a blanket over her. Still, after what we had just shared, I felt nothing for her. I pulled on my own pants, poured myself a scotch and walked over to the window.  
  
The night was calm, clear. I found it strange to see the serenity after the thunderstorm I had just experienced. I downed my scotch quickly, but instead of pour another one, I headed to my room to take a shower.  
  
I turned the water on hot, scorching my skin in a desperate attempt to redeem myself. I felt as though I had betrayed Emily, even though she was out, most likely doing the same thing. And even if she weren't, she was with Zander, and it was none of her business. I didn't ask her about her sex life. This was my personal life, and it had nothing to do with her.  
  
But if that was true, why couldn't I stop thinking about her reaction?  
  
And why did I feel so guilty? 


End file.
